Snapshot Love
by feii
Summary: Little glimpses into the Ryan Hardy - Debra Parker relationship. "He watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, disrupting the dust particles, sending them swirling around her like fireflies. And just like that, he was done hiding."
1. Chapter 1

Author Note: These stories are all a little short and maybe even a little incomplete.

They're only meant to be small glimpses or snapshots in to their relationship.

The first chapter's purpose is only to establish a foundation for which the rest can be written.

I hope you enjoy them!

-F

* * *

"_Tell me it's nothing, try to convince me..._

_That I'm not drowning_

_Oh, let me tell you I am._"

* * *

She shifted from one foot to the next, tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear but her effort was futile. It fell forward again almost immediately, defiantly - a little like her. She pushed a nervous breath out past her teeth and then bit her lip. She wondered if this was a mistake, if she should turn around and go home. But it seemed a little late for that now, and she wasn't one to give up so easily, so she raised her hand and she knocked.

"_Please be home._.." she thought.

The sight of her standing in his doorway was unexpected to say the least. He watched her eyes widen slightly as they quickly flitted down and then back up, her mouth doing the same.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked.

"What are you doing here?" he replied back a little more roughly than he intended, Joe's phone call still pulsing in the back of his mind.

"I was concerned...how is your friend?" She asked, earnestly.

"He's okay. It's going to take some time...but he'll be fine."

"You can't just disappear...Ryan" she breathed out, staring at him with wide brown eyes, hoping that she was getting through.

For a few seconds he felt guilty, to think that he could just walk away and no one would be affected by it. He tilted his head, eyes moving down towards the ground as he backed up slightly signaling that she could come in.

She moved forward.

"Please put on some pants..."

He smirked and closed the door.

...

He placed a warm cup of coffee in to her hands and then brought his up to his lips. It was hot, and bitter.

"You an alcoholic or just a problem drinker?" she questioned, not sure which answer would be better.

"Yes," he replied, halting his movement.

"That' can't be good for your heart..." she deplored.

"It's not."

...

"Look, I'm not good at bonding...healthy relationships are not my thing, I..I got trust issues..." she faltered and he interrupted her.

"Your point?" He asked, walking past her towards the light of the window. He didn't want to dismiss her but he wasn't sure he had the energy to let anyone else in, even as a friend.

She felt a little foolish. She should have known this wouldn't be easy. When was anything ever easy for her? She pushed forward nonetheless.

"My point? I don't have a point." she breathed out turning around towards him. "I...I'm trying here, but I mean, I look around this place and...I don't know the person who lives here. It's certainly not the guy I've been working with for the past couple weeks, and I know that you don't want _any_ of Joe Carroll or this case but...I think you may need it." she rushed out and he breathed in, eyes slipping shut.

"And I kinda need you..." the words slipped out of her mouth and hung in the air and for a moment she wished she could grab them and pull them back in. But that was what she had been working her way up to this whole time. She needed him.

_I kinda need you_, floated around in his brain as he processed everything she had just said. His chest tightened and he set his coffee cup down on the ledge of the window and turned back around to face her. He watched tiny dust particles float down between them in rays as the light filtered in from his window illuminating strands of her hair that framed her face.

"That's as sappy as I get, I'm done." she forced out. He watched her eyes dart around nervously as she waited for his answer, hopeful that it was enough to keep him working with her.

He watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, disrupting the dust particles, sending them swirling around her like fireflies.

And just like that, he was done hiding.


	2. Chapter 2

Quick Note: I listened to this on repeat while I wrote this fic and I recommend it as background noise while you read: Avalanche City: Love Don't Leave Me Now

* * *

"_Her heart was beating fast and I hoped that we could stay_

_in our hiding place where it was warm and cold could not invade._

_We laughed aloud and talked of things that happened yesterday_

_But the storm could hear, our voices clear so it came on its way..._

_and she said, 'love don't leave me now.'" _

* * *

It happened, for him, in slow motion. The type of thing where you hear it before you see it. The spark of gunpowder, the bang as the trigger was pulled, the woosh of air as the bullet flew out and right through her. He watched her fall, a flash of long brunette hair and honey colored limbs. He watched her hit the ground, hard, and not get back up.

"_NO!_..." he let out a strangled cry as he lunged towards her still form.

One of Joe's followers lay just behind her, bleeding out, having used their last bit of strength to sloppily pull the trigger in her direction. He watched the blood stain on her shirt grow as he gathered her up into his lap, placing pressure over the stain on her abdomen. He watched her eyelids slowly slide open as she stared up at him. This was his fault. She had wanted to call for backup but he had stopped her, said it would alert the two men they were following.

"Hey, you're okay, _you're okay_..." his words tumbled down to her as she reached up and grabbed his shirt as if it would keep her from slipping away.

"I'm sorry...I didn't see..." she pushed the words out through her lips but she didn't finish as he felt her grip lessen and her eyelids slide shut.

"_Hey! HEY!_..." he shook her in an effort to keep her there, to keep her eyes open.

"Don't do that. Hey..._Parker!_" He watched as her eyes snapped open again and he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"_Don't do that_," he whispered frantically down at her, pulling her a little closer while simultaneously applying more pressure to her wound to try and stay the bleeding. She let out a small whimper and he whipped his head around looking for the light that would indicate the way out and then he took a deep breath and pushed up off the ground, bringing her with him, stumbling forward slightly as he went. His heart was pounding out of his chest as he pushed his way out of the darkness as quickly as he could. He could feel her going slack as he made his way out and up the slight hill that was the entrance and then straight down towards the road. He could hardly make out the whir of the sirens in the distance over the pounding in his ears that was his heartbeat.

"I'm tired..." she whispered against his neck. She sounded small. He didn't like it.

"I know, I know." He breathed. "But, you can't sleep yet, okay? Don't fall asleep, do you hear me?" He felt the slight shift of her head indicating a, "yes."

"Talk to me. Tell me something." he breathed down at her. "Tell me something about yourself." He asked, shifting his weight and readjusting her in his arms. He just needed to keep her awake long enough for the ambulance to get to them and from the sound of the sirens, it wouldn't be long.

"I...I really like...peanut butter and honey sandwiches." she slurred out.

He tilted his head down at her and felt a small smile creep on to his face.

"Mom used to make them for me...when I didn't feel well..." she whispered against his neck.

"Hmm.." he hummed in the back of his throat. "That sounds nice. What else?" He pressed.

"_You're warm,_" she sighed.

"Parker?" He shook her gently, but she didn't respond. He didn't have to see her face to know that her eyes were closed again. He saw her skin change, from honey to porcelain as cold became her face. Then she was suddenly being pulled out of his arms and on to a stretcher by what seemed like a swarm of people. As they descended he lost sight of her, and then the ambulance doors shut violently pulling him out of his haze and he watched them drive her away.

His chest hurt.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Haven't you seen me sleepwalking__, 'Cause I've been holding your hand. Haven't you noticed me drifting? Oh let me tell you I am."_

* * *

They let her leave the hospital a day later as no serious internal damage had been done. She gently glided her hand over the bandage covering the side of her waist where the bullet had torn through her flesh and winced.

She looked around her apartment and sighed. A cab had dropped her off not 10 minutes earlier. She looked down at her phone and for a split second she wished she had someone to call. Someone who would bring her dinner and keep her company until the sun came up again - but she didn't.

Instead she slid her phone on to the kitchen table and took off for her room to put on something that wouldn't hurt so much. Yoga pants and an old, worn, FBI t-shirt would have to do.

...

He arrived at her door several hours later with a grocery bag in one hand and alcohol in the other.

"Ryan?" she smiled back at him, questioningly.

"I know I know, the last person you were hoping to see today, I'm sure." he smirked.

"No..no! I just...I guess I wasn't really expecting anybody." she replied, looking down at the ground a little sheepishly.

"Hmm," he hummed back at her, eyebrows raised. "You sound a little like me." he smiled as he made his way past her and in to her kitchen.

She pushed the cold metal of the door locks down and then turned and watched him, curiously, as he began to empty the contents of his grocery bag out on to her kitchen counter with an amusing determination.

She walked towards him, placing both hands on the counter opposite him and leaning up against it, eagerly, much like a child would.

"Where are your knives?" He asked, absentmindedly. He heard her sharp intake of breath and his head snapped up to see her staring, wide-eyed at what he had unpacked and began to assemble. The look on her face made his breath catch in his throat.

"You're going to make me a peanut butter and honey sandwich?" she squeaked out, her eyes glassing over.

"You...you said you liked them." he replied.

"Yes," she breathed, stunned.

"...and, that they made you feel better when you were sick..." he continued.

"Yes," she choked out.

"So, I just thought that you might need something like that now." he finished, looking down at the counter. When he looked up again she was standing right next to him, incredibly close. He watched her lift her arms, awkwardly, hesitantly, towards him. She wrapped them up and around his shoulders as she gently sank herself in to him. He followed suit, placing his arms around her, careful to avoid her waist. He pulled her further in to him, his right hand resting at the base of her neck, fingers slightly tangled in her hair. He notices she smelled faintly of something like lavender...or maybe it was gardenia. He wasn't even sure if he really knew what gardenia smelled like, but he imagined if it was anything, it was her.

"Thank you, so much..." she whispered. "For _everything_."

Her heavy emphasis on the word, "everything" made his chest constrict further.

He couldn't possibly understand what this meant to her. Over the years, she had become so used to there just not being anyone. She had learned to live on her own at a young age, to take care of herself, never really knowing what it might be like to have someone take care of her for once. To have someone take that burden from her - to remove the heavy weight of the world, if even just for a little while, it was something she didn't dare dream about. She had long ago resigned to the fact that the lights would always be off when she returned home.

She pulled back out of his arms, felt his fingers slip down through her hair and stared up at him from under heavy lids, a sheepish smile on her face. He reached up and pressed the pad of his thumb against her cheek, wiping away a lone tear that had escaped her eyes.

"Hey, you said you didn't get sappy," he teased and she let out a chuckle and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands.

"Well, I've been emotionally compromised." she smiled up at him.

He laughed, "Oh? How long are you going to milk that?" He watched her move towards a drawer and pull out a butter knife.

"Depends," she smirked. "How long is it going to take you to make that sandwich?"

...

They were both sprawled out haphazardly around her coffee table, looking more like misplaced decor than people. She lay across her couch on her stomach, face turned towards him, her hair falling over the side of the sofa. He lay on the floor, head propped up by his elbow, staring up at her as they talked.

Empty plates covered in bread crumbs lay forgotten on the coffee table along with two empty wine glasses. The sun had long set and two small lamps were now illuminating the room. A fan overhead lazily pushed a warm breeze through the room causing errant strands of hair to occasionally wander over in to her field of view. The faint sound of rolling thunder could be heard in the background from a storm that had not yet reached them.

She laughed at something he said, readjusting herself on the couch. He watched then as her face suddenly crumpled in pain. She must have twisted herself the wrong way and irritated her stitches. He pushed himself up and scooted towards her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah...I think so." she winced. He helped her in to a sitting position and then moved his hands towards the bottom of her shirt but she quickly stopped him, grabbing his wrist, causing him to whip his head up in her direction his brows furrowing in confusion.

"Sorry..." she rushed. "That's...that's a habit." she finished, releasing his wrist from her grasp.

He wondered what sort of things lurked in her past, just behind her brown eyes, that might have forced her in to such habits. He proceeded again, this time more slowly.

"Come on," he stood up, holding out his hand to her. "You have to change your bandage, or it could get infected." A raised eyebrow was her only reply. "Trust me, I've been shot a lot." He smiled down at her.

A ghost of a smile flitted on to her face as she reached up and took his hand. She led him toward the bathroom and he trailed close behind. He watched her gingerly reach up and open a cabinet next to the sink and pull out a box of bandages the hospital had given her, along with some antiseptic. He could see that any exaggerated movement was painful for her so he reached out and grabbed the box off the counter.

She turned and stared at him as he opened the box and pulled out a new bandage. "I can do it," she insisted.

"You really shouldn't right now, you're going to split the wound back open moving around like that." he pushed.

"Fine," she huffed in mock annoyance. "Go ahead."

He kneeled down and looked up at her once for permission. She deftly nodded her head, "yes" and he moved his hands up towards the bottom of her shirt, pushing it up towards just under her breasts, exposing the flat expanse of her stomach. He felt her shiver slightly as his fingers reached out and slowly peeled her bandage off.

"Hurt?" he asked her as he busied himself.

"Mmm, no." she lied.

He motioned for her to hold her shirt up as he reached for the antiseptic and began to apply it over her stitches. She shivered again, partly because of the pain and partly because his left hand was now splayed out across her right hip as he steadied his right hand over her wound.

He tried to focus on the task at hand and not the feel of her honey colored skin underneath his fingertips. He pushed a breath out through his lips and rubbed his thumb once over her hip. He reached for the new bandage and peeled it apart, slowly placing it back over her wound, taking care to seal the edges, pressing firmly but gently.

He smiled up at her, "all done."

She smiled back down at him, hand gripping the edge of the sink as she tried to ignore his thumb swaying back and forth over her side.

He gathered her things and pushed up off the ground coming up just a little too close to her. For a second neither of them moved, almost as if they were afraid to. The air between them was static as they stared at each other curiously. She was the first to break the silence with a breathy, "thank you."

He placed the items back in the cabinet and they both moved out of the bathroom. A bittersweet feeling washing over them both as they put a little more space between them.

"I should go," he smiled, pushing his hands in to his jeans. "You must be exhausted."

"Yeah, yeah I am." she smiled back at him.

"Do you want me to help with the..." he motioned to the living room towards the evidence of their dinner.

"Oh no, please, you've helped enough." she said earnestly. "I've got it."

He turned and moved towards the door and she followed, slipping it open.

"_Ryan_.." she called out, almost frantically.

He turned back towards her, eyes searching her face.

"I...I don't know how to say thank you for this." she breathed out. "I'm not good at this."

He chuckled, "Yeah, you keep saying that."

"I can't tell you how much this has meant to me."

He smiled and nodded his head towards her. "Just don't tell anyone at the Bureau I made sandwiches."

She let out a laugh and nodded her head. "Okay," she smiled.

"Goodnight Ryan."

"Goodnight..."

He heard the door click shut, listened for the small 'thunk' of the locks moving in to place, and then he turned and walked away.

* * *

Please let me know what you think so far. :)

.


	4. Chapter 4

_"I am colorblind; coffee black and egg white. Pull me out from inside._

___I am covered in skin; no one gets to come in. __Pull me out from inside._

___I am ready, I am ready, I am fine."_

* * *

She was a mess of tangled sheets and flailing limbs. Of hands over her face and sharp intakes of breath. Her voice was ringing in his ears as his own pushed frantic whispers of comfort in to hers.

He's not sure how it happened, not sure what triggered it but whatever it was it wasn't anything he had seen from her in the daylight.

Her eyes were shut tight as a rush of, "_please no, please no, please no, please don't...oh God no...no no no no..." _fell from her mouth like a mantra. He pushed her hair back from her face, her skin slick, illuminated only by the moonlight coming in from the window.

He wished he could stop it. He wished he could remove whatever demons haunted her beautiful, complicated mind. He wished he could take it from her, add it to the pile he had locked away in the back of his head and say something silly like, "it's no problem I've got plenty of room up there." But he couldn't. He couldn't because she wasn't his.

She wasn't his to pull in to his arms, press his skin to hers and gently rock back and forth until she fell back asleep. She wasn't his to kiss awake in the morning while the sun shown through the blinds drawing patterns across the sheets. She wasn't his to say things like, "Do you know if we're out of milk?" or "Have you seen my blue tie?" And there would never be any fumbling for keys as "I can't believe you did that," snickered in the darkness, laughing at three in the morning over something that wouldn't be remotely funny in the daylight because you're no longer sleep deprived and a little buzzed.

No there would never be any of that because he wasn't even supposed to be here now. But their hotel rooms were adjoined and the door was unlocked and with everyone so on edge he couldn't not push through and in to her room to make sure she was alright.

So he settled for hands cradling her face and thumbs brushing warm tear stained cheeks. He settled for, "_Parker, Parker wake up!_" And her eyes flew open and the pain he saw there made his veins run cold as his thumbs moved against her skin as if of their own volition.

She pulled back at first, hands coming up to grip his forearms, nails digging in to skin, frightened, still not fully there with him; still haunted. He moved toward her again and he saw the panic form on her face.

"Parker it's me...Parker?" Nothing.

"_Debra, please_..." he whispered his final plea towards her and then watched as her eyes came back and her movements halted.

"What are you doing here?" she breathed out, her voice shaky.

"I...I heard you, crying. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he offered.

She didn't reply. Instead she pulled her knees up to her chest, bringing the tangle of sheets with them. He watched as silent tears began to stream down her face and he suddenly realized that maybe this was a side of her that she didn't mean for anybody to see, least of all him.

"I don't think I need to tell you how wildly inappropriate this is right?" she said, her voice hoarse.

"I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude..." he breathed out and then pushed back to move off the bed. However, before he could he heard her voice again, small and sad.

"_Please don't go..._" she whispered, staring down at the mattress.

He sat still, not sure what she was asking for...not sure what he was hoping for.

"Please just stay here until I fall asleep?" she asked, swollen eyes finally meeting his.

He nodded his head yes and she scooted over, making room for him. She readjusted the sheets and then pushed herself down on to the mattress as he sat, parallel to her, back against the headrest. She brought the sheets up to her chin and rolled in to face his direction as her eyes slid shut.

He rubbed his hand over his face and then stared down at her, dark hair splayed out across white linen. He didn't think he had the right to ask her what her nightmares were about. Despite the fact that he already felt like he had known her for years, it had really only been weeks, a month if that. However, without even asking he could tell that whatever it was, the wound was deep. The kind of wound that never fully healed and every once in awhile, when the night was too long or the stress became too much, split open again staining your skin.

So he didn't hesitate, when her shoulders began to shake and her hand reached out, hesitantly, sliding towards his, fingers grazing his skin - to reach back and thread his fingers through hers.

And when they'd wake in the early morning, just as the sun was coming up over the horizon, there would be no grand gestures, no explanations. Just lips turned up in awkward empty smiles and muffled yawns. Just a shared secret of a quiet sadness hanging between them in the air like smoke.

And he would slip quietly back in to his room, stop half way with a, "see you down stairs" and then disappear.

And she would slide back down in the bed and cover her face with her hands and whisper, "..._keep breathing Debra_, _just keep breathing_."

* * *

.

.

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! I really appreciate it. \|°▿▿▿▿°|/


	5. Chapter 5

_"This is going to break me clean in two  
This is going to bring me close to you_

_This is going to bring me clarity  
This'll take the heart right out of me."_

* * *

Her cheeks were red, and cold as I held her hand in mine.

The wind blew through her hair, whipping it back and flailing it around. She turns her head down and in towards me, to temporarily shield herself from its sting.

The clouds hang low and heavy in the sky as we look out over the hill. Lights that are usually reserved for the night flicker on in the distance as grey begins to slowly cover the city like a blanket.

We're both draped in black, a shared pain, dull and throbbing in our chests. How many of these are we going to go to before this is all over? Will one of us end up going to the others? Stand there alone with a hole in our chest and fingers searching for something to grasp that will never be there again? The thought makes me tug her hand, pulling her closer. She doesn't seem to mind, caught up in her own dark thoughts. It's one of the things we share - the darkness. Shared, but separate.

The sound of the pastor is dull and muffled in the background. We can hear his voice, but not his words. A sea of black coats stands ahead of us, heads bowed, fists clenched, faces somber.

With the exception of the wind, it's strangely quiet.

I can feel the pacemaker in my chest, just under my skin, working overtime as my heart beat thunks along to a slow sad song that I cannot hear. I roll my head slightly to the side, trying to fend off the tension forming in the back of my neck. I feel her eyes on me now, sensing my slight discomfort. Without looking I squeeze her hand to reassure her I'm fine, or at the very least, as fine as I can be.

It's one of the things I secretly like about her; the way she just knows, feels, others pain as if it's her own. It's a rare quality.

She can walk in to a room of a dozen fellow agents, all milling about, and feel the shift in just one person's mood. And no matter what it is, no matter what's wrong, she'll try and make them feel better about it. You'd never know that someone so positive on the outside was so broken on the inside.

Another item to add to the running list of things I secretly like about her.

Claire's face suddenly flashes across my mind and my chest sinks. Briefly I wonder if her poker face is as experienced as Parkers. I hope it is..._God I hope it is_, because the thought of her funeral makes me sick to my stomach.

Guilt washes over me as I realize I've just compared them to each other. I bow my head and close my eyes. It's the first time I've done it and I don't know what that means for me. I push the thought from my mind because I don't have the strength to analyze it right now. All I know is, I've become so used to having this force at my side for the last month, calling me out on my bullshit and backing me up when I needed it. I just can't imagine anything different anymore.

My frame feels heavy all of a sudden; my joints ache and the storm in my neck has creeped its way up and in to my temple.

"_What an idiot you are Hardy," _my own mind throws back at me.

I need a drink.

The sound of the pastor's voice has faded completely now. We watch as one of our fellow agents is slowly lowered in to the ground for good. Out of the corner of my eye I see her hand come up and cover her mouth as a silent stream of tears begins to slip down her face. My heart sinks further. A quiet sob escapes her throat as she leans her head on my shoulder. I push a shaky breath out through my lips and lean my head against hers, my eyes clouding over like the sky.

We stand there like that for several more minutes after the crowd has thinned out. It's just us and the wind now; fallen leaves swirling at our feet. I take a deep breath and can smell the rain in the air mixed with a scent I've come to learn is uniquely her.

I think then that if something were to ever happen to her, I would always remember the way she smells.

I wince. "_Please let there never be a time when I have to rely solely on my memory for that.._."

I reach up with my right hand and pinch the bridge of my nose, the conflict in my head and my heart becoming too much. I feel her body shift and her hands grab mine, pulling them away from my face only to replace them with her own. And then suddenly her lips are on my skin, slow and soft and comforting. It's innocent - her way of saying, "_it's okay...we're still here, we're okay_" without actually speaking. As she pulls back, I feel her thumb brush between my eyes, removing any evidence of the stain of her lips. Those same fingers then move towards my temples, applying a gentle pressure. My body sighs and slumps forward towards her like a magnet.

"Come on," she says, a sad smile on her face. "Let's go get you something for that headache."

I nod silently, gratefully.

I reach down, reclaim her hand and lead her quietly away from the storm overhead. For now it's all I can do. Because tomorrow that agent in the ground could be any one of us.

* * *

.

.

. Oh, you are all so very sweet. Thank you for all of your kind words and encouragement - it makes me all warm and fuzzy. ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ


	6. Chapter 6

_"And if it brings me to my knees_

_It's a bad religion_

_This unrequited love_

_To me it's nothing but a one-man cult"_

.

.

.

* * *

It's two hours, thirty minutes and forty-five seconds until we raid the mansion. Two hours, thirty minutes and forty-five seconds until we slip on bulletproof vests, push the cold metal of a gun into our hands and whisper words of salvation to ourselves.

But it's been one hour, two minutes and eighteen seconds since I found her sitting alone in an abandoned classroom of the high school we took over in the town of Havenport. I founder her, back to me, sitting on a desk facing the chalkboard, legs hanging over the side, hands in her lap, head bowed. Her long brown hair sat atop her head, rebellious strays, that had since escaped from their initial pinning, hanging down in loose curls around her neck.

She doesn't so much as flinch when I open the door and enter the room and her lack of movement surprises me a little, considering how close we are to Joe and his cult. It could be me at the door, or it could be someone sent to take her life. Maybe she just knows it's me? However, a more frightening thought crosses my mind that maybe she doesn't care who it is?

It's been one hour, two minutes and eighteen seconds since I found her sitting alone in this room and it's been fifty-eight minutes and twenty-five seconds since I came to stand in front of her, hand under her chin, gently angling her somber face up towards mine. It struck me then that she looked numb, her eyes dark.

"_What's wrong?" _I ask, letting my hand fall from her face.

Her eyes pool, her brows furrow.

"_I'm gonna die aren't I?" _her voice is small and strained; strained like when there's a stinging in the back of your throat from trying to hold back tears, over and over again.

"_Don't..." _I choke up suddenly, my chest constricting._ "Don't say that, okay? You can't think like that, you know better." _I force the words out, but in the back of my mind I know she could be right. She could die, I could die, any second. I push my hands into my pocket and look down at the ground.

"_I haven't been out in the field as much as you have. I'm a thinker. I hold the gun but you pull the trigger. __I handle the psychological aspect of these cases and while I know I can handle my own, I've never seen anything even remotely like this." _she breathes out eyes level with my chest.

I didn't know what to say. My chest felt heavy and the pain forming in my heart was being reflected in front of me on her face. I reached out and cupped her face with my hand, smoothing my thumb over her cheek. I felt her lean into my palm, saw her eyes fill with tears and it broke me. I took a ragged breath, reached out and pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her. I know it's not appropriate and I don't give a shit.

I felt her sink into me, her body molding to mine, her arms around my neck and suddenly I can't pull her close enough. Her body shakes, and I feel the tears come hard and fast.

And it's been one hour, two minutes and eighteen seconds since I found her sitting alone in this room. And it's been fifty-eight minutes and twenty-five seconds since I came to stand in front of her, hands on her face.

"_I was in a cult you know?" _she breathes against my shirt. I'm shocked by her confession but I don't let her go, I don't pull away.

"_I was born into one and I thought I was going to die in one...just not this one" _she chokes out. I pull back a little, just enough so I can look into her eyes. Just so she can see that I'm not going to judge her the way others have judged me for my past.

We're so close that her exhale is my inhale.

A sad, watery smile appears on her face as her eyes searched mine. She reaches up and traces my jaw with her fingers, trailing fire across my skin. And I didn't want to want her so bad, _this bad_. And this is the worst possible time in the worst possible place and this wasn't even supposed to happen and I don't give shit.

.

.

.

Without warning he sinks back into her, pushing himself between her legs and gently presses his lips against hers - not fully, just at the corner of her mouth. _"__Oh god, oh god...__" _runs through his mind as a shiver runs up her spine. He pulls back again, slightly, slowly. She's still as he reaches up pulling the clip from her hair that's holding it atop her head. It tumbles down in waves, a glorious brunette waterfall running over her shoulders and down her back. He breathes out and she breathes in.

Silence.

And then suddenly they're crashing into each other, all lips and teeth and hands. She grasps at his shirt frantically trying to pull him closer. His hands tangle in her hair, his lips moving against her neck as she let's out a quiet whimper, a mix of a relief and sadness, neither of them sure which it's more of. And this wasn't supposed to happen, not here, not now, maybe not even ever but, _"oh god, oh god" _they need this right here right now in this classroom on this desk facing the chalkboard.

A puddle of their clothes is quickly forming on the floor beneath them. And she thinks this is wrong, and she thinks it shouldn't have happened or at the very least, not like this, not in an empty classroom with her back pushed uncomfortably against a desk, her clothes half on, half off. And she thinks this is irrational and inappropriate and they should stop but, _oh god oh god, please don't ever stop_. And his hands are everywhere all at once, his fingers blazing trails of fire across her skin in repayment. She feels her heart pounding against her ribcage and she's gone, she's just gone. She's drowning on the inside, grief and guilt and pleasure and comfort and the smallest amount of happiness all mixed into one emotion, consuming her.

And he thinks he's never seen her more beautiful. He wants to press his lips against her until every bit of sadness is erased from her body. He wants to touch her everywhere, his palms gliding over every inch of her honey colored skin. And she's soft, all legs and curves followed by flat planes that flow into valleys of places he's yet to explore. And she's sweet and warm against him and he's drowning in her very being. He runs his hand up her thighs and then behind her, clenching her back to keep her in place, as if she's trying to go anywhere but closer into him anyway. The heat between them is enough to light the whole building on fire and his lips are on her chest, tracing her collarbone over to her shoulder and then back down and, "_oh, yes_" she pants.

And now he's thrusting against her and she can barely remember her own name, but she knows his. She knows his because it's running through her mind like a prayer. A moan barely escapes her throat as his lips descend on her mouth, her nails digging into his back. And he's lips, and heat and solid beneath her palms. And she's on the verge of tears for more reasons than one and she can't think of anyone better to kiss them away than him. She hums in the back of her throat and his name falls from her lips. A low growl is his only response as he pulls her closer, trying to memorize every inch of her, not sure if he'll ever get another chance to again. Every inch of her, glorious and hot; her lips swollen and wet, her eyes shut tight, back arched, hair wild.

Briefly, as he's kissing his way up the flat expanse of her stomach, mouth open, tongue wet, eyes dark - she thinks that they're much better at this than they had any right to be. They just are. Oh god, they just are and the further he tangles himself with her the more right it feels; the more she forgets everything that's going on around them outside of that school in that town, two hours, thirty minutes and forty-five seconds before their possible impending deaths.

He calms slightly, sensing her distraction. He reaches up pushing the hair from her face, running his fingers through it. His eyes search hers, making sure she's okay, making sure she's still "there." The way he looks at her makes her heart stop. She's never really felt beautiful or desirable, or cared for - not really. But the way he's looking at her right now, she can feel it. She can feel it. Her eyes are swimming with tears again and a short breath comes up from her lungs. He reaches down and laces their fingers together, hovering over her, his weight comfortable above her.

He leans down, pressing his lips to hers, slowly, sadly. And they both hope it's not a, "_goodbye_" kiss. And they both know that it could be and the weight of this tugs painfully at their hearts.

He reaches between them, simultaneously pushing her apart and pulling her closer and the ache between them grows. She bites her lip and his hand hits it's mark and her eyes slide back and "_Oh god yes..._" tumbles from her swollen mouth. Her back arches off the tabletop and a strangled cry flies from her lips because what he's doing, _oh_, what he's doing will surely end her. Her whole body is humming his name and her breathing is frantic and it's beautiful and terrible all at once. And then stars are exploding behind her eyes and both her brain and her lungs stop sharply as her body feels like it might lift off the table.

And then his mouth is back on hers, breathing life into her again and the aftershocks, warm and dull, are rippling through her. And she tries to kiss him back, tries to catch her breath and she thinks maybe she loves him, right here right now, in this classroom, on this desk while the world burns just outside their window. He's murmuring her name; several of them lost against her mouth and she wants to remember this because it might not ever happen again. She wants to remember every second, every touch, every ache and she doesn't want to die, _oh god she doesn't want to die_.

He pins both her hands up above her head, fingers laced with his own, sinking down into her and when they do finally connect, like two lost puzzle pieces, it burns through them like an electrical surge. Her hips angle up to meet his and they're a tangle of limbs and skin and sweat and he's just everything all at once and she's everything all at once. Their movements become more frantic and his eyes lock with hers as she writhes beneath him.

They're a sad, sweet chaos.

A tear slips from his eyes and falls to the hollow of her neck as he loses his rhythm and then loses himself, to her. The sensation of it overwhelms her and now she's gone too, breath leaving her lungs, eyes blurring as he collapses against her panting.

And he thinks it's been one hour, two minutes and eighteen seconds since he found her alone in this room and it's been fifty-eight minutes, and twenty-five seconds since he stood in front of her, hands on her face and it's been twenty minutes and eleven seconds since he first felt her lips against his and it's been roughly sixty-two seconds since he came down from the high that was Debra Parker, five-foot eight, honey-colored skin, mocha lips and the current keeper of all his hopes and fears.

And as they lay their, smoldering, tangled and indistinguishable, their hearts pounding against each other, his trying to keep up with hers, she begins to cry. And now his lips are back on hers, swallowing her sobs and running his hand through her hair. He moves his mouth to her ear and whispers, "_it's okay, it's okay..." _and she cries back, "_I know, I know it's okay._" He pulls back slightly to look into her eyes and she continues.

"_I was just thinking...that even if I die today, that at least, for a little while, I felt loved." _

Her words hit him hard, knocking the wind from his lungs and he gathers her up and holds her tightly to him.

They are a beautiful tragedy, a symphony of melancholy.

A little too much, a little too late_. _

"_You are loved Debra." _he breathes into her. _"Don't you ever forget that."_

...

And so it's two hours, thirty minutes and forty-seconds until they slip into bulletproof vests, push the cold metal of a gun into their hands and lead themselves away from the scene of their love-crime, towards a potential end.

* * *

.

.

.

Oh my, I'm so nervous about the last two episodes of this show! I hope this wasn't too much too soon but I had to write it before something bad happened. And yeah, I pretty much sniffled my way through it. ;-; Again, your reviews are so sweet - a thousand thank you's.


	7. Chapter 7

Note: Hello again! Sorry I haven't updated this in a long time. I was a little overwhelmed with the way the season ended. Even though I saw it coming, it didn't make it hurt less to watch it happen. I debated for a long time on how to continue this or if I should just end it the same way the season finale did. I don't know how many people are still interested in this and so I've decided that this could be the last chapter. I could technically write my way out of this if enough people wanted another chapter. However, I may just leave it as it is and continue "them" in other stories or one-shots.

No matter what, I want to thank all of you for reading and reviewing this story as it is. I really appreciated all of the lovely feedback, you guys are really wonderful.

Please forgive me if this chapter is lacking.

* * *

.

"_**I'm buried Ryan**_..."

There will be tears in the morning.

There will be gut-wrenching sobs.

There will be feelings of absolute despair - drowning, suffocating, heart crushing despair.

It will be hard to breathe. It will be hard to see. It will be harder to go on.

"_Please don't make me go on_..."

But you do, _you do_.

And you will wake up in the middle of the night, sweat dripping, sheets drenched, heart pounding and you will reach for her and she won't be there.

And you will claw at the fabric and you will dig your fingers into your flesh and you will mourn her absence.

You will mourn her, so much that the cries coming out of your mouth will be void of sound.

And you will want to collapse into yourself, cease your breathing, halt your blood flow, and dismantle what is left of your heart and bury it in the ground with her body.

But you don't, _you don't_.

Instead you remember the feeling of the air being knocked out of your lungs as you heard her tell you she's buried beneath the ground.

You remember the way her voice sounded, her body deprived of oxygen, as she used her last breaths to tell you and Mike goodbye.

And you think maybe that's the worst part. Existing in a world where she doesn't and she _won't_, unable to do anything about it.

And so your mouth will be filled with her name.

Because you didn't get there in time. Because her final breath left her body, slowly, by way of her beautiful mouth, six feet beneath the ground without you by her side.

"_Ryan, this is not on you. _

_Don't you take it. _

_I am not your fault._"

Her last words on repeat in your mind; each one a gunshot wound to your chest.

And you are numb, so _so_ numb.

And you remember her skin, and you remember her lips, swollen and sweet. How is it you'll never feel them again? How is it that something you went nearly 40 years of your life not knowing, could leave you so devastated beyond repair? You feel sick.

So that night, when Molly comes to your door, knife in hand, a hard crazed look in her eye and she thrusts that cold metal blade into your stomach, a flash of white invading your vision, the uneasy "bottom-out" sensation that is your life slipping rapidly out of your body, warm blood pooling at your side - you feel..._relief_? Relief and pain and despair.

And as you lay there dying, all you can think is how the name "Molly" doesn't sound like the name of someone who would fatally stab you. It doesn't match someone who would rip open your skin, tear into your muscles, puncturing internal organs as she goes.

And you think you should be dead by now, surely it doesn't take this long. And then you wonder how long it took for Debra and suddenly you're right back to that drowning, suffocating despair that her name triggers for you now.

The pain in your gut is fading and so are you, but for some reason you feel stuck. Yeah, you're stuck. Not dead but not alive and never happy. No, never ever happy, just tired and sad and irrevocably devastated.

"_You can't kill me, I'm already dead..._" the memory of your own words floats through your brain.

And suddenly you're overwhelmingly tired of this miserable game that is your life and you're unbelievably sad that you've outlived nearly everyone you loved.

And you're lying here, in a pool of your own blood, half alive, and you're still wondering what's taking so long - because you're certainly not putting up a fight.

And then you feel your body still.

And suddenly you see her.

_Her_.

Your blurry eyes focus and she comes in to view, kneeling next to you, a warm, loving look in her eyes, her beautiful brunette hair, wavy and tumbling over her shoulders, a smile on her face. The same smile you remember. And she looks so real. She looks so real, and even though your heart is stopping you feel strangely calm - you feel peace.

And as everything moves in what seems to be slow motion, you hear her.

"_It's okay Ryan, it's okay,_" she breathes out.

"_This is not your fault, this is not on you...let it go. It's time_." she speaks.

And all you can do is produce a small watery smile, your eyes glassy, a sob escaping your throat. And you're not sure if it's meant for the end of your life or for hers - but you're just so happy she's there.

She moves forward slightly, gently placing your head in her lap and you're mesmerized at how real she feels to you, how warm.

"I...I never thought I'd see you again..." you breath up towards her and a smile lights up her face. "How are you...what are you doing here?"

She smiles down at him, stroking his hair with her left hand, the fingers of her right grazing his cheek as she cradles his head, her eyes glassing over - "_I was just waiting for you..._" she smiles.

And you can't stop the tears from streaming down your face or the stinging in the back of your throat as you say up to her, "If I had known that, I would have done this a lot sooner..."

And now the tears that were sitting just on the edge of her eyelids have jumped and as she moves forward, slowly inching down towards your face and you swear you can smell her.

And right then and there you know that she was it, she was the key.

"_In death, there is life_."

Your whole life you've been dead.

You've been walking around, a shell impersonating the living, trying to feel alive, trying to be alive but failing miserably.

How were you supposed to know that your life went first? How were you supposed to know that your life was waiting for you?

"_Ryan..._" her soft voice whispers as if to help you understand.

But you know now. You know that if she hadn't gone first that you would have be left here, in some sort of cold, dark death limbo, never truly alive. And so, as her lips meet yours, pushing up against your flesh and she feels so sweet and so solid, you know, you just know that this is how it was always supposed to be. You melt into each other, tears mixing together, souls lining up as it all goes black, and then just like that you're gone from this world, and you're both okay with that.

"_We only said goodbye with words, but I've died a hundred times_."

* * *

...

...

...


End file.
